


Like a Virgin

by overratedantihero



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Deathstroke - Fandom, Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Consent under Duress, Intended Blood Letting, Intended Murder, M/M, Poisoning, Virgin Sacrifice, food as lube, tied up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-11 05:57:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16470053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/overratedantihero/pseuds/overratedantihero
Summary: Dick gets tangled up with a cult, by no fault of his own.





	Like a Virgin

**Author's Note:**

> Slade/Dick Week: Bondage/Virgin Sacrifice

Dick was used to being taken. He was Richard Grayson, air-headed, vapid, bachelor heir to the Wayne fortune.  The eldest of Wayne’s infamous and oft discussed ducklings. Gotham was corrupt, and villainy clouded around Bruce and his ilk like that one cologne of Bruce’s that Dick hated. Abductions happened, ransoms happened.

Dick was  _not_  used to being hung upside down, at least not as Richard Grayson. He hadn’t been awake from his artificial sleep for very long, but he’d been awake long enough to be ready for the rescue portion of the evening to be finished. His arms were pinned to his side by rope and he hung from the ceiling by his ankles. The sweater he’d been wearing when he’d been snatched from the Foundation event was gone, as were his pants, socks, and shoes. All the blood was rushing to his head, and, judging by the clawfoot bathtub positioned underneath his suspended form, that was the intention.

“Hey,” He piped up, wiggling in his polypropylene restraints. One of the individuals milling about in the wide, marble-floored room, paused to glance his way. She, like the others, wore a chiton in a style that Dick was sure hadn’t been commonplace since 4th century Athens. In her arms, she cradled an urn with a Greek key pattern as well as a book of matches. Since he’d been awake, he’d seen his captors tote around several of those urns, and some herbs, and a few animal furs, and some wine, and some ivy, and essentially all the trappings any Ancient Hellas themed cult could ever want.

“Please don’t speak,” she warned. “Gagging is not required of the ritual, but we won’t hesitate.”

“I just wanted to thank you for pulling out a bathtub and all, but I showered this morning,” Dick beamed. The woman rolled her eyes and a man paused beside her.

“Don’t engage the virgin,” the man chided. “He’ll be hushed soon enough.”

Dick burst into laughter. Genuine, rope-prison shaking laughter. Tears gathered at his eyes and his throat grew tight from the uncomfortable position, but still he laughed.

“I’m sorry, virgin? Is that what this is? You’re killing a virgin?” Dick snorted. “This is good, this is great. Sorry to interrupt your ritualistic sacrifice schtick, but I’m not a virgin. Haven’t been for years. You can let me down and call it a day, I swear I won’t tell anyone that your little club tried to sacrifice a notorious playboy in a virgin ritual.”

The room came to a pause as others looked up and watched Dick’s display. Dick’s laughter died at the impassivity of their expressions.

“Are you married?” The man asked, crossing his arms. The woman hid her smile behind the urn, poorly.

Dick furrowed his eyebrows. “No, I—”

The man shrugged and began to walk away, back to what he’d been doing before, “Then, per our ritual, you more than suffice.”

“You see,” the woman began, eyes glassing over as a small smile quirked the corners of her mouth upwards. “We’re building upon, expanding, a long ancient cultus. We worship the war-like Dionysus, he who demands blood for pleasure. The ancients understood him to be mad, but we know better than they. We recognize we must incite the madness, feed his fervor, and only a bacchanal will do.”

“I’m not a virgin,” Dick asserted again. “Your ritual will fail.” Dick whole-heartedly believed their ritual would fail regardless, but if he could meet them halfway to get right-side up, then he would.

She shook her head. “Virgin is mistranslated and misunderstood in the ancient texts. Virginity isn’t to be sexually naïve, it’s to be unclaimed, unmarried. Young and unmarried, you’ll do well to wake the maenads. Have heart, you’re serving a being of delight and rage and madness and passion. It is honorable.”

Dick closed his eyes. His head hurt. He didn’t want to argue with someone dressed in the preferred garb of drunk frat boys. He opened his eyes again, but the woman was gone, off to fulfill whatever chores needed fulfilling before slitting someone’s throat and bathing in that someone’s blood. Dick began working on the knots nearest his fingers first.  

He hadn’t got very far when he felt more than heard someone approach. His fingers paused, but then a familiar cologne washed over him.

“Oh, you freak,” Dick muttered. Slade obligingly moved into Dick’s line of sight and cross his arms with a smirk. He was without his suit, dressed in black chlamys with an orange pattern around the outer edge. His eyepatch was a matching black and Dick wanted to say he looked ridiculous, but he looked sleek. That, and the chlamys opened on his right side and Dick wanted to bite the hipbone peeking out from underneath.

Dick was comforted to find that his libido wasn’t stemmed by impending slaughter.

“Careful, little bird. If you hang upside down for too long, you’ll asphyxiate. Lungs are fickle, they don’t do well under pressure,” Slade offered, reaching out to run his fingers through Dick’s fanning hair.

“Thanks, wanna help me up?” Dick pitched with a grin. His vision was growing blurry. Slade pulled his hand away.

“But you’d look so good drenched in red,” he mused.

“I also look good with blood inside of my body,” Dick assured him. “It’s what gives me my youthful glow.”

Slade didn’t smile. He scowled and crouched down, so that he was level with Dick’s face. He leaned forward, so close that his lips brushed Dick’s skin when he hissed, “If you’re here to stop me, you’re too late. Their libations are laced with hemlock.”

Dick wiggled with fervor. “Dammit, Slade, I’m not undercover!” he hissed as he tried to headbutt Slade, who reared back well before Dick’s head could connect. “They grabbed me when I was at a social event, I couldn’t fight back. I don’t make a hobby out of being sliced up by fanatics,” Dick grumbled. “When I told Bruce that I could stand to lose some bulk, I didn’t mean like  _this_.”

Slade stepped back and looked Dick over, beginning with the ceiling hook and ending with Dick’s reddened face. He cocked his head, and Dick began to genuinely wonder if Slade was just now checking into Dick’s predicament.

“You haven’t gained that much weight. If you’re looking to slim down, endurance running does it for most,” Slade concluded. Dick wanted to hit him.

“If you’ve already poisoned them, why are you still here?” Dick ground out.

Slade grimaced. “Poison isn’t my preference. My employer was clear that should they decide to worship their demons in mockery of Athenians that they die like Athenians. Being here while the poison processes at least allows them the opportunity to lash out before they succumb.”

Dick was having difficulty thinking past his headache. He wondered how long it would take for a blood vessel to burst, and for his brain to hemorrhage. “Maybe you should stop befriending thematic cults, yeah?”

Slade swatted him on the ass hard enough to illicit a yelp from Dick. Slade rested his hand where he’d hit and gave it a conciliatory squeeze. A cult member looked up and shouted, exasperated, “Please don’t engage the sacrifice!” Slade dropped his hand.

Dick blinked. “Slade, seriously, how much for you to cut me out of this? I know Bruce doesn’t like ransoms, I’ll wire you the money myself.”

“You’re not interfering with a contract, nor are you a contract,” Slade murmured. “I wouldn’t have charged you.”

“Oh?” Dick said hopefully.

“But,” Slade smirked, and Dick huffed, “you’ve already offered. And so now we’re negotiating.”

Dick opened his mouth to retort, but someone shouted at Slade from across the room. Slade raised an eyebrow and strode over. Dick could just barely see them in his line of sight. It was the man from earlier, but he’d grown much paler. The man had sounded irritated when he’d shouted for Slade, but by the time Slade walked away from him (armed with an urn of his own) the man appeared placated, if unsteady on his feet.

When Slade reached Dick, he did so with an uncomfortably satisfied grin.

“What did you—” Dick began. He cut himself off with a squawk when Slade poured the contents of the urn onto Dick, beginning with his still-clothed pelvis. Thick, viscous liquid ran in rivulets down Dick’s body and his briefs clung to his groin. Slade placed the urn on the ground.

“What the  _fuck_ ,” Dick whined. “I thought he was going to shout at you for talking to me, not give you  _lube_.”

“It’s olive oil,” Slade corrected. “And he did. But even cults that separate from other cults are still cults, they’re just cults with something to prove. I convinced him that I was praying over you and that I needed to cleanse you of your miasma prior to slitting your throat.”

Slade reached out and smeared a hand over Dick’s abdomen, spreading the oil over Dick’s abs and pecs. Slade ran his drenched thumb pointedly over Dick’s nipple.

“Slade,” Dick chastised. “My miasma doesn’t feel very cleansed.”

“Consider yourself anointed,” Slade mused. “Also, I’ve decided the terms of your safe evacuation.”

It took some arguing, and the first symptoms of the hemlock poisoning coming to fruition around them, for Dick to convince Slade to accept his payment in a different location.

And then it took further arguing, hours later, for Dick, covered olive oil and sweat and semen and friction burn, to convince Slade to cut away the ropes that continued to bind his arms and legs.  

At the end of it all, Dick lay, panting and heavy-eyed, across Slade’s slick chest.

“Feel like a virgin yet?” Slade mused.

“Touched for the very first time,” Dick sighed. 


End file.
